Thunderstruck (14 page)

He would tell her. He had to stop and tell her the truth.

Didn’t he?

She returned the kiss with the same intensity she did everything, insistent and swift and determined, holding him tight to her, plunging her fingers in his hair, caressing his neck and shoulders, murmuring his name.

He had to tell her. But what would happen if he did?

What would happen if he
didn’t?
Could he risk losing her now—or afterward?

He pulled away. “Shelby, I have to tell you something first. You have to know the truth about why I’m here.”

Her eyelids fluttered as she pulled herself back to reality. “Now?” She pressed against him, womanly and warm and willing. He heard a groan rumble in his throat, felt the achy, anxious twist in his body. Lust and want and Shelby won out.

“Now.”

She reached up and pulled his face to hers. “Not now.” She opened her moth, tasting him with swift, darting licks.

“I have to—”

“You have to kiss me and stop talking.”

He did. Even if it meant taking the risk of losing her later. He had to kiss and touch and inhale and make love to this racer girl who pushed him toward the back of the motor coach and made him ache to do the one thing he swore he’d never, ever do….

Gamble.

“D
ON
’
T LEAVE
.” M
ICK
pulled Shelby into him, nestling them both deeper into the sheets.

She couldn’t speak, so she just took a deep breath of his sweet, musky smell, felt the hairs on his leg tickle her bare skin and listened to his voice vibrate from his chest to hers.

“It’s not even light yet,” he said.

Reluctantly she lifted her head to squint at the window. The earliest gray of dawn threatened between the slats of the blind, but she knew instantly that rain clouds were building.

“That’s only because it’s overcast. Good day for rain, though. No one’s racing or practicing.”

He skimmed her hips and pulled her closer. “Good day to stay in bed.”

“Are you crazy? We have a new driver. I have to get over to the garage the minute it opens and, if you don’t mind, I’d rather not run into Austin Elliott or Garrett Langley while I’m coach hopping at dawn.”

He trapped her bare legs between his and squeezed gently. “No one cares. Everyone’s asleep. Most teams are starting late today. We’re both uncommitted adults. It’s not like this is going to surprise anyone.” Nuzzling into her neck, he slid his thigh over hers. “Need more excuses?” He trailed her throat with the tip of his tongue and whispered in her ear. “’Cause I have one that’s guaranteed to keep you here.”

She half laughed, half sighed, completely melted. “You had me at ‘No one cares.’” Shifting to her side, she aligned their bodies, a move that felt as natural as breathing. “Except that you’re wrong about that. In this small, nosy, confined universe of racing, the fact is that
everyone
cares.”

She could have sworn his expression changed from content to something else. And it wasn’t
aroused
.

“But don’t worry,” she added, kissing his nose. “The real problem is when they don’t talk about you. That’s like when fans don’t clap or boo. You’re not in the game anymore.”

“Do you listen to rumors?” he asked.

She lifted a shoulder and snuggled closer. “I take everything with a grain of salt. Life at the track magnifies things that in any other world would be totally irrelevant.”

“Are you sure?”

She drew back to study his face. “Yes, I’m sure. Why?”

“Because you might hear some.”

She waited a beat, and when he didn’t elaborate, she frowned. “After that fight in the hauler? Yeah, I expect we will. And everyone is going to want to know what magic potion you used to bring Scott Bronson out of self-imposed retirement.” He still didn’t say anything, his expression guarded. “Will you tell me the secret?”

“What secret?”

“How you got Scott.”

“Oh, that.” He exhaled hard and turned onto his back, pulling her into his side but looking at the ceiling. “Both our sports agents work for the same firm. There was no magic, really. I made one phone call.”

She traced a line along the curve of his bicep with her finger. It was as firm as she’d imagined. And, God, she had certainly imagined.

“The answer to our prayers,” she whispered.

He looked at her. “What?”

“The day I saw you out on the grass at the shop. Ernie pronounced you ‘the answer to our prayers.’”

He half smiled. “I hate to think how you responded to that.”

“I said it depended on what you were praying for.” At his quizzical look, she laughed. “I thought, if I’d been praying for someone to make me lose my mind, strip my clothes off and start my engine every time he looked at me, then, yeah, my prayers have been answered.”

“I start your engine?”

She punched him. “Oh, please. As if you didn’t know.”

He rolled over, laughing and kissing her. “Do I crank your carburetor? Turn your cylinders? Hit your throttle?”

“Stop!” She almost choked with a laugh. “You are living proof that a little knowledge is truly a dangerous thing. Not one of those is right. Haven’t you been paying attention to me?”

He kissed her mouth. Her eyelids. Her temple. “Sweetheart, you’re all I’ve been paying attention to since I crossed the pond. From the moment you bounded into the garage misquoting Winston Churchill, I’ve been awestruck.”

“Really?”

It was his turn to give her a get-real look. “As if you didn’t know,” he echoed.

A smug, content, completely wonderful feeling washed over her, and she pulled him down onto her. “I knew,” she whispered. “I thought I might use it against you.”

“But your evil plan backfired, didn’t it? Now Ernie has all but blessed our union.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but he knows. He might not like it, but he’s not stupid.”

“Yes, I know. I heard you when I walked in on your tell-all yesterday in the lounge. You were right in the middle of saying something about no-strings relationships and a roll in the…” He fluttered the edge of the sheet. “Why do you call this hay?”

“A roll in the hay is meaningless sex.”

She felt his whole body tense. “Meaningless?”

“Short-term. Fun. Commitment-free.” She shot him a look. “I gotta believe that’s your usual M.O.”

His eyes darkened to the color of winter sea. “Not necessarily.”

“I guess,” she said slowly, studying him for the tiniest reaction, “if you buy half this company, that creates some fairly serious strings.”

A tiny wrinkle began to form between his eyes as he frowned. Did the idea of “strings” bother him? Emotional or otherwise?

“Don’t worry,” she said softly. “I won’t pull the strings.”

He didn’t say a word.

“I won’t, Mick. I’m actually quite comfortable with this being purely physical, if that’s what’s bothering you.”

The shake of his head was nearly imperceptible. “That’s not what’s bothering me.”

Whatever it was, she suddenly didn’t want to know. It threatened these last few moments of predawn intimacy, and she wasn’t willing to lose them. Whatever serious thoughts had invaded his previously playful mind-set, she wanted to get rid of them. And in the last eight hours she’d learned how.

She arched her back, leaning her body into him. “You want to know what’s bothering me?” she asked.

He replied with similar pressure and a lusty look. “I think I know.”

“Then fix it.” She whispered the demand, and he closed his eyes with a soft, sweet moan of pleasure.

An hour later dawn broke for real, and Shelby pulled herself from a spent, satisfying alpha state at the sound of insistent tapping on Mick’s door.

Mick swore softly and untangled himself from her.

“Who wants you at this hour?” she asked.

He dipped to kiss her one more time. “Besides you?”

She laughed lightly but inched away when the rapping increased in tempo and power. And a woman called his name.

Frowning, he threw back the sheets and climbed out of bed, yanking on shorts and peering out the window. “I can’t see who it is.”

“Well, do me a favor and close the bedroom door when you answer.”

He did, and Shelby slid out of bed and stepped into her jeans and shimmied into the Manchester United jersey.

“What do you want?” she heard Mick say.

“I know she’s here.”

Shelby startled at the familiar voice and whipped the bedroom door open to confirm. “Tamara? What are you doing here?”

Tamara raked her with a look, then took a much slower journey over nearly naked Mick, her knowing expression taking everything in. “I need to talk to you,” she said to Shelby. “Privately.”

The ice in her tone and the sudden drop from the sweetness of sleeping with Mick to the harsh reality of her life left a metallic taste in Shelby’s mouth.

“Give me a second,” she said and she took at least five minutes in the bathroom, trying to psych out why Tamara was here and what she wanted.

When she returned to the salon, Mick was still shirtless, although he had put on jeans, and Tamara was gone. “Where’d she go?”

“She said she’d wait for you at your motor coach.”

Shelby blew out a disgusted breath and peered out the slats of the blinds, where a soft rain had started to fall. “So much for discretion.”

“She’s royally pissed about something.”

“She’s trying to muscle into my team and you’re the competition. Obviously—” Shelby grazed his six-pack with a playful knuckle “—you have an unfair advantage.”

But he frowned. “Are you sure that’s the problem?”

“Don’t know.” She scooped her jacket from the floor where she’d dropped it during last night’s impromptu strip show. “But I’ll let you know.”

She blew him a kiss, but he clasped her outstretched hand. “Wait. I don’t want you to go. I need to talk to you.”

“Yeah, right. Talk.” She squeezed his hand. “We’ll talk when I get rid of her. Later. Tonight.” She waved the sweatshirt. “As Arnold says,
Ah’ll be bahck
.”

He didn’t smile.

“Maybe that’s only funny to Americans.” Still no smile. In fact, he wore that odd expression again. “Mick.” She brushed his cheek, as casual as she could muster. “Don’t worry. No strings, no problem. This is separate from the decision about the team. This was just…” Heart-stopping. Mind-blowing. Crazy, wild, perfect. “Sex.”

Before he could contradict that—or not—she opened the door and hoisted the sweatshirt over her head to stay dry. She stopped running when she reached her motor home, where Tamara sat stewing on the steps.

She stood, snuffing a cigarette in the wet grass. “Sorry to ruin your afterglow, but we have to talk.”

“Sorry?” Nothing on Tamara’s face said she was sorry. Her eyebrows were pinched and her mouth was set in a sour line. Shelby pulled keys from her jacket pocket, unlocked the motor home and yanked open the door, not bothering to let her guest go first. “This better be pretty damn important.”

“What were you thinking?” Tamara demanded, closing the door as she followed Shelby in.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I wasn’t exactly thinking. I was…” Her voice trailed off at the moisture in Tamara’s eyes. “Are you crying?”

She blinked and shook her head. “It’s rain.”

No, it wasn’t, but Shelby didn’t feel like arguing.

“I don’t mean what were you thinking by sleeping with the British rock star.” She cocked her head in the general direction of Mick’s motor coach. “I mean, who wouldn’t?”

Shelby ignored the comment and waited for her to continue.

“I meant what were you thinking when you hired Scott Bronson to be your substitute driver for the race?”

Shelby stared at her, completely surprised by a question that came so far out of left field she’d never dreamed it was headed her way. “What? Why? I mean, why do you care? It’s good…no, it’s
fantastic
for the team.”

“But Kenny Holt was under contract.”

“He cheated. Breach of contract. I’m not getting slammed with owner’s points deductions and fines because he wants to play with technology in order to win.” She narrowed her eyes at Tamara. “You of all people should understand.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Look, NASCAR didn’t catch him. You did. Rap his knuckles and let him race. It doesn’t help the team to be jumping around from driver to driver.”

Resentment prickled the hair on the back of her neck. “Thanks so much for your advice, Tamara. If we ever decide to formalize a relationship, I’ll ask for it. Now? Not so much.” She pointed to the door. “You done?”

“No, I’m not.” Tamara slammed her hands on her hips and jutted her chin. “You’re making a huge mistake, Shelby.”

“I’ll take my hits, thank you.” Did she have to physically remove the woman from her home?

“He’ll be gone after one season, and you’ll be left with—”

“Scott? He may be gone after one race, but—”

“Not Scott. Mick.”

Mick? Now they were talking about Mick? “He’s not leaving,” she said. But even as she said it, the words sounded hollow. “He wants to buy the team. He’s in for the long haul.”

“Really? Well, that must have been some sweet pillow talk he whispered to you last night, but staying around isn’t part of the bet.”

The what? “Excuse me?”

“The bet he made.”

Her throat tightened. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you know why he’s here? Why he wants to buy half your team? Don’t you know anything about this guy who’s got his hands all over your business and all over you?”

A dull, throbbing ache squeezed her chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Last fall, on the sports cruise? The one that big agency sets up for all their clients to gladhand sponsors and rich fans? You know about that, don’t you?”

“Yes. Ernie was there. That’s where he met Mick.” Right? Wasn’t it? “Why?”

“Then Ernie probably told you what happened.”

She thought he did. Ernie’s version of what happened. “Tell me,” she said.

“It was near the end of the cruise,” Tamara said. “A bunch of them—soccer players, baseball players, tennis stars, racers, owners and a lot of hangers-on—got drunk and started making bets. Mick bet some guy that he could win in any sport, in any country, as a player or a team owner. Someone put it to him and bet him a million bucks, literally, that he couldn’t buy a NASCAR team and win a race in the first season. He bet that he could. He bet
a million dollars
that he could win a race in the first season as a NASCAR team owner.”

Shelby tried to breathe, but pain stopped her. He was doing this
on a bet?
For a million lousy dollars?

“Shelby, you really don’t know about this?” All traces of Tamara’s tears were gone, replaced by a hard look and something mighty close to gloating in her eyes. “Your partner is temporary, doll. In the bedroom and in the garage. Now with me, you have a long-term partner. And, as much as I like you, you don’t have to worry whether or not I’ll respect you in the morning.”

She still couldn’t respond.

Tamara’s chin tilted up and her smile was firmly back in place as the balance of power—and of the room, it felt to Shelby—tilted toward her. “Of course, I don’t know this for certain, but the whole Scott Bronson thing could have been part of the bet. He was on that cruise, too.”